If Daenerys and Yara Ruled Westeros - Part 7
by yochlochlo
Summary: After the battle for the Iron Throne begins, Queens Yara and Dany usher in a new era in Westeros. When two old enemies escape and seek revenge, Dany and Yara's relationship and reign will be tested. Final chapter from AfterEllen's Summer Ship.


**PART 7**

Daenerys Targaryen stood on the edge White Sword Tower, gazing past the jutting rocks of Aegon's High Hill and into the rough waters of Blackwater Bay. Yara Greyjoy placed on a callused palm on Dany's pale shoulder and followed her gaze. The two women stood in silence for several minutes, watching the sun begin its descent into the Ocean.

"You know, I've never been entirely comfortable with this place," Dany said.

"Westeros?"

"The Red Keep. Most people don't take the home of their enemies. For almost twenty years, the people who butchered my family lived in these walls."

"But before them, the Targaryens held King's Landing for centuries."

"Yes. And they went mad. My enemies hurt many people in The Red Keep. My family hurt many people in The Red Keep. I hurt many people in The Red Keep. Is it cursed, you think?"  
Yara sighed and pulled Dany into her arms.

"No. It's the throne. Any throne costs blood. But the Iron Throne most of all. You know it has to be this way."

"Yes. I suppose I just thought it might be over. Something is wrong, Yara. I feel it. We haven't heard from Brienne and Arya for weeks. I fear something happened to them. Quarantine or not, the plague is spreading. And Cersei is rallying the Westerlands to rebellion. Disease and war are two great ills. I don't know if my young rule can withstand them."

"Don't talk like that. You are Daenerys Targaryen, mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains. I am Yara Greyjoy, Iron born and desperately in love with you. We can do this."

"But how do you kill a plague? How do you fight an enemy you can't see or touch or hurt? A plague is impervious to even my fire and your iron."

The Snowy Sept was once a quiet house of Gods. People spoke in hushed tones and tiptoed so as not to cause an echo. No more. Now the holy house was filled with shouts and footsteps, its halls crawling with life and death. For when the plague struck the North, it struck with deadly force. Entire towns were on the verge of total annihilation. All travel in and out of White Harbor had been halted. The sick were quarantined mere blocks away and the Sept itself had been turned into a makeshift plague lab, filling daily with Maesters and Wood Witches from every corner of Westeros. They came to find a cure for the Great Plague, alongside High Septa Sansa and Margaery, the new Burned God.

Inside a meeting room in the highest Snowy Sept tower, Sansa and Margaery met with a conclave of Maesters to review their findings.

"What are these?" Sansa asked, watching Maester Prewitt pull three vials from a wooden box and place them on the round, white marble meeting table.

"Potential cures for the West Plague," Maester Prewitt explained, "Each was administered to three patients under quarantine last week. We have high hopes for this one," Maester pointed to a muddy green concoction, "As it was devised by the Highest Ranking Arch-Maester of medicine."

"When will we know if they work?" Sansa asked.

"When someone gets better."

Margaery stood.

"I want to see them."

"That would require going into the quarantine."

"What do I have to fear? I have died before."

Brienne and Arya huddled over a campfire, roasting a rabbit and weighing their options.

"Now that we've sent a raven, our duty is technically done," Brienne admitted. "We could return to King's Landing and await further orders."

"But we know Cersei is raising an army in the Westerlands," Arya cried, "We must stop her."

"I'm not eager to lead an untrained Squire into a war zone, Arya," Brienne replied.

"I've seen worse. You know where I've been. What I'm capable of."

"Yes. I know. I just thought…"

"What?"

"I thought that you might want a bit of youth now. You were old so young. Don't you want a break from death?"

Arya shook her head.

"My loyalty is to Daenerys and Yara. We must make our way to the Westerlands and stop Cersei. Surely, now that Dany knows of her actions, she will send an army."

"Well, yes," Brienne admitted.

"So then let's meet the army. Let's go to Crakehall."

"But we'll arrive far before the army."

"Not if we make a few stops. This is what I propose: we make our way to the Westerlands, but we stop at Noble houses we know to be loyal to the crown. Dany has her standing army, but she will need every fighter possible to defeat Cersei once and for all. Let's rally Goldengrove, and Deep Den. Let's summon the Queen's men. Let's lead."

Brienne looked at Arya with new respect and smiled.

"Alright. Let's lead."

Cersei Lannister walked proudly through the courtyard of Lannisport, admiring the fighting men practicing. With the aid of Serret forces, taking her ancestral home had not proved difficult. The city was still filled with those loyal to the Lannisport cause. New men arrived daily to take the banner of Queen Cersei. They came from Casterly Rock and Red Lake, from Sarsfield and Oakwood, bringing with them weapons and the support of the Westerlands. When Daenerys Targaryen's forces had taken Westeros, the people of the Westerlands suffered a terrible humiliation that still stung. They were eager to extract their revenge.

Melisandre walked next to Cersei. Peculiarly, she seemed to be aging in reverse. When Melisandre met Cersei, she was a hideously wrinkled crone. Now she appeared a handsome woman no older than forty.

"You must tell me your beauty secret," Cersei implored, not for the first time.

Melisandre smirked coyly.

"Revenge," she replied simply.

"Then I should appear a maid of eighteen."

Melisandre laughed but did not answer the question further. She gestured to the troops.

"Do you think this will really be enough? Surely Daenerys's forces, while diminished, are still vast.

"Absolutely. We will strike quick, so she has no time to summon the full might of the Seven Kingdoms. Their forces will be weakened by the plague, which our troops are miraculously impervious to—"

At this Melisandre nodded graciously.

"And we have a nasty surprise for her dragons. Combined, these elements will destroy her. And together, we will take the Iron Throne."

"What of Lady Jane? She seems to think she will become your consort."

Cersei and Melisandre's eyes turned to the pretty young woman waving at them from across the courtyard.

"She will be handled."

Cersei paused and looked at Melisandre.

"It has something to do with your plague, doesn't it? Your newfound youth?"

Melisandre couldn't contain a smug smile.

"Yes."

"You were the one who started it then? And the more people who die from the plague, the younger you get?"

"You're a very insightful woman Cersei."

Cersei bowed dryly.

"I am but a Noblewoman in awe of your vast powers."

"Modesty doesn't suit you."

"Fair enough."

Yara and Dany lay in their vast canopy bed, pouring over papers.

"Cersei has chosen Lannisport for good reason; it's the hereditary Lannister home, filled with loyalists and surrounded by defenses. It's also against the water. If we're going to defeat her, we need to defeat Cersei on two fronts: land and sea."

"And air," Dany said coolly "I will fly with my dragons."

"Tyrion can help lead the troops. I will take to the sea and lead our Navy," Yara replied confidently.

Dany smiled at her wife.

"How lucky am I, to have found someone I not only love but respect as a consort?"

Yara kissed Dany.

"Extremely lucky," she said, coming up for breath.

Dany looked deep into Yara's eyes.

"I'm serious. We took Westeros back together. Let's secure it together."

Yara held Dany closer.

"Anytime."

Sansa and Margaery surveyed the makeshift hospital with horror. Bodies lay as far as the eye could see; old bodies, young bodies, bloody bodies, bandaged bodies, live bodies, dead bodies. The sheer weight of human suffering and disease sat oppressively on their shoulders as they walked through quarantine, experiencing firsthand the reckless horror of plague.

"It's just down here," Maester Prewitt urged, darting head, seemingly impervious to their surroundings. The women looked uncertainly at each other, then followed him up a rickety set of stairs and into a slightly smaller chamber filled with slightly fewer people. "Now here are those who took the first possible antidote," Maester Prewitt gestured to three emaciated patients. "The green one."

"The one from your highest ranking Maester?" Sansa asked, stepping closer to one moaning body.

"Yes. Unfortunately, our high hopes were for naught. Two of them have died, and one will within the day."

Sansa recoiled from the moaning body, stricken with the realization that this person was hopeless.

"Most unfortunate," Maester Prewitt said matter-of-factly. Sansa was struck by his coldness. She wondered if this is what a career in medicine wrought: distance and acceptance of death.

"The second antidote yielded similarly unsatisfactory results." Maester Prewitt continued blandly, "But the third —"

He pulled them towards the very end of the chamber, where three more patients lay, looking marginally more alive.  
"Seem promising."

Margaery leaned over one of the crumpled figures, gazing into his face. It was a boy, no older than fifteen, in the wrinkled rags of a street rat. His steady breathing sped up. He opened his eyes.

"Don't be alarmed," Margaery said.

"I'm not," the boy replied. "You're a God, right? Are you here to take me?"

Margaery brushed a fingertip against the boy's face.

"No. I'm here to bring you back."

Daenerys savored the air as she flew above Westeros, clamped tightly on the back of Drogon. The capable servants of King's Landing had fashioned a saddle of sorts to make her ride more comfortable, a clever contraption of leather and hinges that contained a compartment for weapons. The army had departed two weeks beforehand on its long march to Lannisport, as had Yara's fleet. Daenerys's dragon would have easily outpaced them had they left at the same time, so Dany stayed and spent the additional time setting up a government that might function in her stead. She felt confident that under Varys's ever watchful gaze, the cogs of King's Landing would continue turning while she was at war.

A week of march on foot was equivalent to roughly one day's flight, so Daenerys felt fresh for battle on her second day of travel. Drogon sped up as if anticipating the carnage that lay ahead. Finally, Dany saw them: her army. Her beautiful, strong army. She flew over, watching them wave up happily while trying to contain their disturbed mounts. They were poised for battle, only a few hundred yards from the walls of Lannisport.

Below her lay Tyrion Lannister leading a host of 18,000 strong troops, followed by wagons laden with supplies to withstand a siege (even if they were the ones that would be laying it) and flanked by a goodly number of servants, squires, and hangers-on. Dany had been touched by the enthusiasm that had broken out in her support. When the call came to defend her regime from Cersei, it seemed like every able-bodied man and woman in King's Landing stepped up to volunteer.

Drogon snapped his teeth. He detected the fight, the blood, and the fire to come. He wanted the mayhem to begin. Well, he was about to get his wish. Before Tyrion and the Army departed from King's Landing, they had plotted this very moment. As soon as Dany flew overhead, the army would know the time had come to attack. With fire raining overhead from a dragon, their offense was sure to prevail. Dany urged Drogon on. The time had finally come to fight.

Ahead lay Lannisport, in all its defiant splendor. The troops of Cersei and Melisandre assembled before the Keep walls. To Dany's intense consternation, Cersei's forces appeared only slightly smaller than her own. She urged Drogon downward, moving to circle above the front most contingent. It was almost too easy.

"Dracarys," she screamed and Drogon released an angry roar and swooped to unleash a stream of fire. Dozens burned instantly, others retreated furiously. It's too easy, Dany thought again. Just then, something green hurled into focus in her left eye. Drogon emitted a terrifying shriek. Dany looked with horror as the left tip of Drogon's wing ignited in flames. The bright, emerald, everlasting flames of dragon fire.

"Nooooooo!" Dany cried out, feeling Drogon shudder and wail beneath her. Drogon swerved abruptly, turning Southward, away from Lannisport and along the Ocean. Dany held on for dear life as Drogon plummeted at dangerous speed towards the earth. The beast struggled not to fall headfirst. Instead, it careened roughly but safely into a large lagoon a few miles south of the battle. Dany winced as they made contact with land. She surveyed her wounds. Nothing serious. She dismounted and moved to inspect Drogon's wing.

Dragons are impervious to most flame. However, they are not impervious to dragon fire. But while Dragonfire does not stop burning on any other victim, it behaves as normal fire when encountering dragons. When Drogon hit the water, the Dragonfire sputtered and extinguished. He was safe. Dany knew that. What she did not know was the fate of Drogon's wing. A sickening dread unfurled in Dany's stomach. What would happen to a dragon that couldn't fly?

Arya punched needle through the eye of a red-clad Lannister fighter, then slashed another foe through the belly. Behind her, Brienne hacked away at half a dozen enemy fighters with her heavy broadsword, methodically killing them as they approached. The women met eyes for and shared a smile. Brienne made her way towards Arya, slashing with such deadly force and aim that Cersei's forces hastily backed away rather than engage in combat.

"Did you see what happened to Dany?!" Brienne shouted through the melee.

"Yes," Arya replied, her face melting into concern. "I don't think she was hurt, though."

"She wasn't. But she and Drogon won't be able to help us until we stop the dragon fire."

"How?"

"We have to get to their canons and somehow disarm them."

"But the canons are deep in the Lannister army. We're good fighters, but no one can take on two hundred to one."

"We need a disguise," Brienne replied, and grabbed a red-cloaked body from the ground.

"Come, grab a body about your size and bring it back to base camp. We can outfit ourselves in there."

Thirty minutes later, Arya and Brienne crept surreptitiously towards the walls of Lannisport. They dodged knots of fierce fighting and tried not to make eye contact with enemy forces.

"There," Brienne said. Arya followed her gaze to two enormous iron catapults.

They moved closer and inspected the machines.

"I think we can disable them by removing these screws," Arya said. "Then, the next time someone tries to let loose the dragon fire, the entire contraption will fall and crush whoever tried to use it."

"Good. Do it. I'll distract the guards."

Brienne tottered clumsily over to the nervous men circling the catapult.

"Hullo fellows, which ways the battle?"

While Brienne did her best idiot impression, Arya nimbly unscrewed the pieces of metal holding the catapults together. She gathered them into a leather satchel and scuttled over to Brienne.  
"Sorry boys,' Arya said, trying to sound as manly as possible, "My friend here took a few too many blows on the battlefield. I think his wits have left him. Didn't have too many to begin with."

Brienne shrugged stupidly and Arya led her away from the confused men.

"Did you get the screws?"  
"Yep. Now let's get back to base camp!"

Cersei took a deep drink of Arbor Gold and surveyed the scene below her. The lands surrounding Lannisport were densely populated with the killing and the killed.

"Do you think we're winning?" Melisandre asked, a tinge of worry straining her otherwise casual tone.

"Of course. You saw what happened to that wretched Targaryen girl and her dragon. Without their precious Queen, Daenerys's forces will lose morale and fall back by sun down. You watch."

"I'm surprised there aren't more troops. My plague must have done its work."

Cersei smiled cruelly.

"It certainly did. I'd be surprised if half of these men aren't already carrying the disease. It will finish off anyone my men don't get."

Melisandre suddenly choked.  
"Melisandre?" Cersei asked uncertainly as she watched her co-conspirator's face go pale and ashen.

But Melisandre didn't say a word. It looked as if she was trying to, but all that her throat emitted were guttural rattles. The color drained from Melisandre's face. Then her arms. Then her legs. In fact, it seemed as if the color drained from all of Melisandre. Her skin, which had morphed from wrinkled to supple since rescuing Cersei from imprisonment, shifted and shriveled. Melisandre's hair turned white and then fell to the floor in tufts. She reached her arm toward Cersei. But Cersei, horrified, recoiled away. The hand disintegrated into dust. Melisandre's flesh tightened, then disintegrated, leaving only blackening muscle and fresh skeleton. Finally, even that fell apart, and the great Melisandre blew away in the winds.  
Cersei screamed. She screamed and screamed but no one came. They were all fighting her war.

Yara slapped her sailors on the back happily. Her fleet had made short work of Cersei's pathetic excuse for a Navy. They swept into the lagoon of Lannisport abruptly, pirate style, canons blazing and men pouring out with the fury of the drowned God in their veins. She turned to gaze at the city. Yara was frustrated with what she saw: walls. She couldn't see the battle, or who was winning. But what worried Yara most was that she hadn't seen Dany once. Sure, the fleet had attacked somewhat after the main force. But it frustrated Yara not to have seen any trace of her wife for most of the fighting. What if something had happened to Dany?  
Just as Yara's thoughts took a particularly dark turn, a weathered sailor's hand clapped Yara's back.

"Stop sulking, me' girl," said a toothless old seafarer. "Your lady approaches." Yara followed his gaze. Indeed, there was something on the horizon. Drogon! As the dragon flew closer, Yara noticed a thick piece of fabric tied around his left wing. Perhaps an injury? No matter, Drogon was flying steadily. Yara squinted to see a small, blonde figure atop the fearsome dragon. Dany was alive! And fighting!

Cersei stumbled outside The Keep and into the fighting. She needed to find a Colonel, or General, or anybody who could tell her how the Battle fared. She wasn't sure what had happened to Melisandre but she needed to know what was happening in the battle. Cersei looked around for a General. But her eyes fell onto the battlefield and stopped. Was Daenerys's army retreating? Cersei moved forward. They were! The Targaryen Army was in retreat! She was winning. Cersei beamed.

Then a dark shadow fell over Cersei. Cersei didn't have time to look up. She didn't have time to do anything. Cersei burned alive with a smile on her face, incinerated in one second by Daenerys Targaryen's Dragonfire.

 **Epilogue**

Yara looked uncertainly at Drogon.  
"You know, I'd be happy to sail back to King's Landing."

"I know you would. But I want you to experience the joys of flight."

Yara shook her head. She and Dany were standing in a lush meadow mere miles from Lannisport. After Cersei died, her forces quickly surrendered, and Dany's troops retook the Westerlands within days. As soon as everyone returned to King's Landing, Dany was determined to slap a medal on Arya, Brienne, Yara, Margaery, and Sansa for bravery and innovation during combat. But first, they had to get back.

Which brought them to Drogon. Yara clambered awkwardly on the humongous beast's back, strapping herself into the saddle and trying not to quake with fear too visibly. Dany darted up easily behind her.

"See?" Dany said happily. "Snug."

"You're lucky I love you," Yara muttered.

"I know," Dany replied and wrapped Yara into a delicious kiss.

 **THE END**


End file.
